


Kill Your Heroes

by Grimmseye



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All characters should get some proper screentime, Caduceus WILL get more screentime, Gen, Leaning hard into superhero tropes, M/M, Reporter Mollymauk, Tags will update with relevancy, descriptions of violence, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmseye/pseuds/Grimmseye
Summary: This guy is wearing a full mask. Red-toned hair fans out over it, but the face is covered by a mask in the shape of a cat, striking black material that only lets him see the eyes staring back at him. He’s carrying Mollymauk rather haphazardly, in a way that quickly becomes uncomfortable until Molly goes, “Well, this isn’t working. One arm under the legs, that’s the ticket. Now I’m a proper damsel in distress.”----Or: the classic superhero AU. And what’s that without an intrepid reporter getting in everyone’s way?





	1. Chapter 1

Mollymauk knows all the best places to duck and cover once the city comes under siege. 

It’s just another Monday, really, when the streets start to rattle and the people start to scream and Mollymauk Tealeaf rolls into an alley to take cover and dig out the equipment he’s taken to toting around. The early bird gets the worm, and some bullshit like that. He’s not much of an early-riser but he  _ is _ the first on the scene. 

His phone buzzes the moment he gets his camera out of its bag, a stern  _ ‘Do not’  _ from Yasha (It’s actually Yasha [heart][lightningbolt][heart][sparkle]). He taps back a string of hearts and sparkles before silencing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. Camera on, microphone ready,  _ showtime.  _

It’s easy to find the scene, at least — just run against the crowd. By the flash of blue that’s darting over the rooftops, he knows one of the Cobalt Soul has taken the villain of the week. Lionheart, if he had to take a guess. There’s her staff, flinging her across a gap that would kill her if she missed, landing sure-footed as ever and charging after her prey. Mollymauk grins as he turns his camera on her and gives chase. 

“Hello, people of Zadash,” he beams into his mic as he runs, “today we’ve got cloudy with a chance of villainy, Lionheart’s quick on the draw as always. Personally I’ve got bets that we’re gonna see Sugar Bomb joining the party but Hexblade’s been more and more active as of late. Haven’t got eyes on the villain just yet but as usual stay indoors, seek the nearest shelter if you’re out on the streets. Stay safe everybody!”

A beam of light streams out of the sky. Lionheart tosses herself off the rooftop and away from it, plummeting at a breakneck speed like a bird in a dive. Her feet skim the side of the skyscraper, push off, and she leaps the rest of her momentum down to the ground, in time to roll out of the path of another dark ray. 

The concrete crumbles like dust where the beam hits. Mollymauk’s eyes go wide, a grimace on his face. “Steer clear of the Tri-Spires, we’ve got a  _ nasty  _ one today. Some kind of disintegration ray —” His voice hushes as he hunkers down behind the corner of a building, aiming his camera around to get a view of who must be the villain, floating down. 

They’ve got an ugly helmet covering their entire head, one enormous eyeball mounted on its front. “Got a regular cyclops here,” Mollymauk hisses, daring to edge just a bit more out of hiding. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder but  _ yeesh.”  _ Lionheart gets to her feet, using her staff to balance herself as she snarls up at the villain. She’s dressed in the blues of her faction, a mask over her eyes and well-fitted clothes, the typical monk garb of heroes who come out of the Cobalt Soul. 

She charges. A ferocity that Mollymauk both admires and reprehends drives her dead towards the villain, who rears back with an animal snarl as a light blooms in the center of the pupil, black flooding to a bright green. Lionheart drops to a skid at the last moment, sliding right past them as the ray fires out, the intended effect invisible against asphalt and concrete. She springs up, cracks them across the back of the helmet with her staff, plants it in the ground to throw herself into a kick in their back that lands them prone. They slam onto the pavement, head bouncing —

“And that’s why you wear a helmet, kids,” Mollymauk chirps, grinning as he steps out of hiding. “Hey, good work there, Lionheart! Do you have a —” 

Her head snaps up. “You —! Get  _ out  _ of here —” 

And so does the villain’s. The pupil has drained to a soft blue, and it’s directed at Mollymauk. 

“Oh, fuck,” he cusses into the mic, and then makes to flee. 

Whatever  _ it  _ is hits him in the back. He feels himself lock up, held in place as a shimmer of blue slams down over his vision. And then the ground leaves his feet as he’s launched up into the air. Windows fly past him, a dozen, two dozen, the light falls and Molly spins towards the faraway ground and feels his heart in his throat as he shuts his eyes and he plummets. 

His last thought, appropriately enough, is  _ ‘Yasha was right.’  _

And then someone catches him. The  _ whoof  _ of his breath out of his lungs is met with another, they fly another several meters from the impact of their bodies. They slow, though, and they steady, and Mollymauk dares to open his eyes. 

He absolutely does not recognize this man. That’s unsurprising, Mollymauk doesn’t recognize most people. The popular heroes and villains fly right over his head, he only knows what he sees here in Zadash. 

This guy is wearing a full mask. Red-toned hair fans out over it, but the face is covered by a mask in the shape of a cat, striking black material that only lets him see the eyes staring back at him. He’s carrying Mollymauk rather haphazardly, in a way that quickly becomes uncomfortable until Molly goes, “Well, this isn’t working. One arm under the legs,  _ that’s  _ the ticket. Now I’m a proper damsel in distress.” 

They’re flying, Mollymauk notices, a little idly, thanks to a swirl of fire that just seems to be surrounding this guy’s likes like a ghostly tail. “So  _ that’s  _ why it’s so hot up here,” Molly grins. The hero blinks at him. 

He remembers his equipment in a flash, heart jumping in his throat before realizing that by some miracle he’d sustained a proper death grip on them this whole time. The hand with the microphone is slung around the hero’s shoulders, and Molly quickly pulls himself up closer to be heard through it, “This is Mollymauk Teafleaf. I am alive and I have just been rescued by an unknown hero. Tell me, friend, are you new on the scene or am I just a bit dazed? What’s your name?” 

Another bat of the eyes. “I…” Soft voice. “Don’t… have one just yet. I am new, yes.” Zemnian accent. 

“Lovely to meet you. Now, as much as I hate to cut this short, Lionheart does appear to be needing a hand.” They crane their heads down. She’s holding her own nicely, but can’t get close between the beams flying around, a deadly lightshow in the middle of Zadash. “Could you drop me off somewhere? Or,  _ set me down  _ somewhere, actually, that would be much nicer.” 

“Oh — yes, yes.” It’s an absentminded mutter, and Molly’s stomach swoops as they descend. He clings a little tighter, tail finding the arm supporting his legs and holding  _ fast.  _ The heat wafting up from the fire is a bit less than pleasant, but at the moment he’s in no position to complain. Wait until both feet are safely on the ground before offering constructive criticism. 

They touch down safely, a few blocks away from the commotion. Mollymauk is set on his feet, the hero stepping back in a manner that’s — shy, maybe?  _ Reserved _ . He’s not wearing what Mollymauk would really call hero garb, either, the mask is the nicest part of the outfit. The rest is approximately a long-sleeved black shirt on top of black pants and some sturdy boots. Thick gloves on the hands, a flash of something white between them and the sleeves. 

“You’re okay from here?” He asks. 

Mollymauk blinks, and then grins. “I’m perfect! Not a scratch on me, thanks to you. But before you go — Mollymauk Tealeaf.” He extends a hand. “If you ever want an interview from someone who’s seen your work up close and personal, I’m your guy.” 

He doesn’t take the hand. Molly doesn’t lower it. 

“Okay,” the hero nods. “I will… keep that in mind.” A flash of light and a loud shout from Lionheart — angry rather than pained, thankfully — makes him wince. “I’d better go, though.” He steps back, almost hesitant. 

Molly gives him a pleasant wave with the hand he hadn’t shaken. “You do that!” 

And after another lingering moment, the hero turns and trots off towards the fight, flames licking around his legs and building into a cyclone that propels him off the ground and out of sight. 

Mollymauk turns to his own camera.  _ “Well!  _ That’s enough drama for me, I think. Luckily that Firebird swooped in to save me — what do you say, folks, take to the polls, let’s give this new guy a good name — and look who’s arriving! Sugar Bomb, just in the nick of time!” 

He turns the camera over as another tiefling runs by, giving a smile and a wave and a bright, “Hello, Molly!” As she rushes by.

He gives a chuckle as he goes through his farewells and clicks off the camera, ending the recording.  _ That  _ will earn him a pretty handful of gold. He scrolls his camera settings, humming to himself. A few action shots would be excellent, magazines are raving for those. He steps back towards the scene, and then gags as a grip on the back of his collar yanks him back. 

Yasha lifts him up like a kitten, turning Molly to face her. Even under her mask, he knows there’s disapproval in her eyes. “That’s enough,” she says, soft. She turns him around and puts him back on his feet, giving a kick to his butt. “Go home, Mollymauk. Please.”

And Molly ducks his head with a growl in the back of his throat. He can  _ never  _ say no to the please. “Oh, alright. I’ve got plenty here, I guess.” He rolls his eyes. “Just be careful, this guy is bad news.” 

“You never listen to me when I say that, but you expect me to listen to you?” She cocks her head. 

And he grimaces, a flicker of guilt in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, go save the day.” He shoos her away. “I’ll be cooking dinner tonight.” 

She just gives a sigh, shaking her head as she takes off at a run. Her feet don’t truly touch the ground, the wind swirling underneath her to push her along. 

Were it anyone else, and Molly would be flitting right back where he’d started, camera at the ready. Yasha, though, he owes Yasha too much, respects her too much, loves her too much to go back on his word. So he pushes himself onwards, planning out his shopping list. Something for dinner and the next couple of meals, they’re out of Yasha’s favorite tea. 

Stores won’t be open until the all-clear goes through the city, though, even if it is across town. So for now it’s back to the apartment. Sooner he gets the footage up the better, anyway. 

He’s scrolling through the clips as he heads up the steps of their apartment complex, tail curling with excitement. The toss was what was really going to be the money-maker this time around. Caught in the arms of a new-debut? That was a stroke of good fortune if he’d ever seen one. A dreamy little sigh puffs out of his mouth. He’s not sure if his old self was a money-mongerer, but Molly? Molly loves having money. Money means nice things — means good food and warm baths with scents and colors he doesn’t need, means buying flowers that make Yasha smile when she sees the new vase he’s set on the table. 

He’s so lost in thought that he nearly trips over the cat that’s just sitting in the middle of the hallway. He notices it just in time, eyes going wide as he staggers around it and slams his back against the wall, clutching his camera to his chest like a mother clutches a baby. Then he turns his glare on the one who’d nearly cost him this small fortune. 

The cat gazes back, unphased, tail curling. 

“No pets allowed in here, mongrel,” he says, but there’s no malice in his voice. “Who’s your owner? Tell them to keep you out of sight, and out from under my feet.” 

The cat stretches out and then starts to wash its ass. Mollymauk snorts as he turns, shifts his camera to his other arm to unlock his door. He’s never seen a cat up here. Could be a new neighbor. Could be it’s been here all along. He knows better than to rely on his memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to yet another majorly self-indulgent AU. Superheroes is kind of my _thing._
> 
> Also the design for Caleb's mask is based on [this one here](https://www.deviantart.com/merimask/art/Amethyst-Moonstone-Cat-1-453861938)
> 
> Finally, if you enjoy this story please let me know! Comments are the best way to gauge interest so I can determine if I should continue a story or not. <3 Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thing of note for this world: fantasy races exist, however the lifespans are all approximately human. There is no magic beyond the concept of superpowers in this world.

Mollymauk will never understand those people who hate to see photos of themselves. He can only smirk with pride as he watches the numbers go up, the name he’s made for himself calling out and letting viewers know exactly where to head when they need the up-close source. Several deposits have gone into his account, news stations vying to broadcast his footage. No one gets as close as Mollymauk dares, so no one but the luckiest get the shots he brings to the table. 

_ ‘New Hero: Firebird?’  _ is the approximation of every headline he clicks past. He’s pleased as the cat that got the canary, feet up on the couch as a crockpot roils in the kitchen. A few batches of those will guarantee quick meals for the next few days, save them the money that takeout would cost. 

The new villain, now promptly beaten to a pulp with the combined power of four heroes (really by the type Yasha got there it was just to hold the guy down as they cuffed him) had been dubbed Beholder in an instant. Molly’s always had a good sense for names — what sounds  _ dramatic,  _ what gets a glitter in the eyes. 

He clicks from site to site, video to video. There’s one that makes him pause as he’s clicking through, eyebrows raising as his head cocks to one side. 

_ ‘The Return of Verbrennen?’  _

He cocks an eyebrow, crunching down on the trail mix he’d deemed to be a good breakfast. A blurry still from his camera is presented on screen: the cat-masked individual. It’s from the moment he was put on his feet, camera still rolling, distant enough from the man to actually get a good shot. 

The picture shrinks, two news anchors on the screen now. His tail twitches as he listens, impatient for them to get to the point of it all. 

_ “It’s hard to say is this is him or not,”  _ one anchor is saying.  _ “Fire isn’t exactly an unusual power. The Scourgers were almost indistinguishable from each other — we don’t even know their voices. I think people are jumping the gun with this one.”  _

_ “That’s fair. As much as I hope it’s true, the last we say of Verbrennen seemed pretty final.”  _ A new picture comes up. Burning building.  _ Large  _ building. A new picture: collapsed, glass and rubble. A disaster.  _ “We did extend a question to the remaining Scourgers and the Cerberus Assembly, but they have yet to comment on this new arrival.” _

_ “And as far as we know, he’s not associated with any organization. Making him a vigilante — the first Zadash has seen in quite some time. How the sanctioned agencies are going to receive him is still unknown but —” _

Mollymauk gets bored. He sets down his phone with a roll of his eyes. Names, names, names.  _ Verbrennon  _ means nothing to him, just names thrown around without explanations. He could look it up, of course, but Molly’s not much of the reading sort. He can blabber just fine into a microphone, but drivelings are to be  _ heard,  _ not  _ read.  _

He’s reluctantly tapping in the name, unsure how its spelled, when a  _ rapraprap  _ at the door catches his ear. Mollymauk perks up, an amused grin on his face. “Yasha?” He calls. “You forget your keys again?” 

She’s only got patrol this morning, could be done early. They’re always amped up after villain attacks, keep the citizens calm. Deal with the idiot criminals who think their petty theft won’t be noticed. 

The voice on the other side of the door, though, is not Yasha’s.  _ “Er, no. This is not… Yasha.”  _

_ Oh.  _ It’s the neighbor Molly never sees, the one with the Zemnian accent. Lots of those around lately, he muses, a bit of a grin on his face. Old neighbor, new hero. He’s heard a bit of chatter surrounding the man: elusive, seen at odd hours of the night, nervous demeanor.  _ Never  _ clean shaven, allegedly. Molly had always assumed he was on the run from the mob or something of that like. 

So of course he cracks the door open to get a look at the complex’s very own cryptid. With such a reputation preceding him, Mollymauk is more than a little disappointed to find someone who is clean-shaven, even  _ handsome  _ standing at the door. And then he remembers that a handsome man at his door isn’t actually anything to be upset about, and he gives a friendly grin as he sweeps open the door and leans against its frame.

“Good morning,” he greets, amiable as always. 

Mister Cryptid doesn’t say a word. He just stares for a long, long while, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. Perhaps Molly gets the best of both worlds — handsome  _ and  _ a weirdo. It’s a good day. 

And then the man recovers. He clears his throat, shakes his head. “Pardon me,” he gulps. “You just, ah… have I seen you somewhere before?”

“Almost certainly,” Mollymauk laughs. “Though if you have, I think you’d remember it just fine so — actually, maybe not? Doesn’t matter, you have now.”

“That is true,” he murmurs, still blinking as though he were dazed. “Um, my apologies. My name is, ah, Caleb. You haven’t — I do realize that this is against regulations, but he is a perfectly good cat — have you seen Frumpkin — have you seen my cat, Frumpkin, around by any chance?” 

“Brown tabby?” Molly asks, remembering the cat from yesterday. “Bushy tail?” 

“ _ Ja,  _ yes, that’s the one.” Caleb gives a smile of sheer relief. 

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” he chirps. Unfortunately for him, that soft smile immediately falls into shock, annoyance, and then resignation. He winces, hastily adds, “Ah, don’t look like that. I’m just pulling your tail — so to speak, Mister Caleb. I saw him yesterday afternoon, just hanging around in the hall. Nothing since then.” 

_ “Scheisse.”  _ Caleb sighs. “Well, thank you. Don’t, ah, I will probably be setting some old clothing out to try to lead him back home. Cats are quite good at finding their way around but in case he gets lost…” 

“Sure thing.” Molly gives a wry grin. “I promise I won’t report you for dirty laundry in the hall. Might want to let the old lady know, though. Three doors on the left —  _ no,  _ on the right. Definitely the right.” He gives a wave of his hand just to make sure. “She’s a bit of a crotchety old bitch until you get on her good side.Tip? Compliment her nails, she always gets the acrylics with the french tips and you  _ don’t  _ spend that kind of money unless you want to get a compliment.”

The guy is still just blinking at him, slow and baffled. He licks his lips, mumbles, “Okay. I will do that, thank you. And, ah, if you do see my cat, just knock on my door. I am right across the hallway.” And he does point to the door across from Molly’s, room nine on this floor. 

“Good to know.” His tail curls behind him. “Good luck in finding your cat then, Mister Caleb. It was nice meeting you!” 

“It — it was nice to meet you as well.” Caleb ducks his head, backing up towards his door. Molly gives a little wave before turning around, pulling the door shut with his tail. 

He stretches out, a faint smile on his face. A bit disappointing, maybe, that there’s not some rando across the hall with a machete. But Caleb seems nice enough. And, he supposes, he gets enough excitement just from living in Zadash. At least  _ that _ trouble earns him some coin.

  
  
  


 

On Fridays, Mollymauk meets with Sugar-Bomb. 

Secret identities can be difficult for tieflings, except that apparently Sugar-Bomb can disguise herself. Different skin tones — he’s seen blue, red, purple, bright pink, neon yellow. Different horn shapes. Different tail structures. Taller, shorter, younger, older — no one can keep track of her, except by her distinctive costume, a cotton-candy pink and blue. 

Today, Sugar-Bomb is shade deep shade of violet, her hair buzzed into an undercut. She’s not wearing a mask because she doesn’t need to, Molly wouldn’t be able to recognize her anyway. 

Yellow eyes brighten at the sight of him. “Hello, Molly!” She beams, flouncing towards him and scooping him into a hug. He laughs as she lifts him clear off his feet. Her horns are in upward twists today, framing the bun of her hair.

“Hello, Sugar,” he laughs, delighted as she twirls him and then drops him back on his feet. Their tails twine loosely as they stroll into the coffee shop. Not a soul is aware of the hero in their midst. 

They order their usual drinks, Sugar’s loaded with sugar, Molly’s just as elaborate. He’s sure the staff would hate them if they didn’t drop an extra copper into the tip jar. The two of them slide into a little booth, Molly saying, “Yasha’s got patrol today. I’m sure Lionheart is trailing after her as usual.” 

Secret identities are also funny things. He doesn’t know who Sugar-Bomb is, and he doesn’t intend to ask. Sugar knows who Yasha is, though, and Yasha knows she knows, because they see each other around so frequently that it’s impossible to  _ not  _ realize that the large civilian human woman who hangs around Molly is the same as the hero with all the same traits. 

He thinks it’s only a matter of time before Sugar-Bomb wears her actual face to their litle dates — gods know it was Mollymauk who dissuaded her from outing herself from the get-go. People might not look at her and pin down the cotton candy hero, but  _ Mollymauk  _ is recognizable. Everyone knows his face. It’s the reason he doesn’t get Storm Herald on camera very often, it’s the reason they don’t greet each other with the same familiarity that Sugar does when masks are on. Someone as colorful as Mollymauk knows how to keep attention where he wants it. 

“I think they’re cute, don’t you?” Sugar sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. “Do you think she’s ever going to  _ notice?”  _

“Who, Yash?” Molly snorts. “Hard to say. She’s not oblivious, but at the same time, Lionheart’s kind of…”

“Constipated?”

The two of them dissolve into snickers, Molly hiding his behind a hand, Sugar loud and raucous. “That’s the word,” Molly chuckles. “Yeah — yeah. Uh, I mean… even if Yasha did know, I’m not sure if she’s going to  _ go  _ for it? They get along, like — I mean, you’ve seen the footage.” 

“They’re  _ pretty  _ badass together,” Sugar nods. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know — I  _ think?  _ — that I’m not either of their slice of pie but I can appreciate. It’s kind of hard to say, gender’s fake.” He and Sugar have had this conversation a dozen times and it always ends in headaches. Molly would freely admit he has some jealousy over her ability to just alter her body at will. “ _ Regardless,  _ I don’t know if she’s looking for a relationship right now. Between her job and me —” 

“And you?” A grin.

“Oh, I’m a  _ handful.”  _

“She has very big hands though.” Sugar beams as Molly chokes on his drink, covering his mouth laughing. “And I can help! I’m always willing to hold your hand, Molly.”

“You make me blush.” And it’s the truth. There’s a warmth on his cheeks from happiness. Simple zest for living, and loving. He loves Yasha, he loves Sugar-Bomb, he loves being here with them. 

And in that moment, of course, Sugar’s phone starts to buzz. They both go quiet, they both know  _ which  _ phone that is. She mumbles something under her breath as she pulls her phone out, eyes flicking over the screen. Her face darkens. 

_ “Shit,”  _ she curses. Her head lifts, lower lip stuck out in apology. “I’m sorry, Molly…”

“Don’t worry, dear,” he waves her off. “You go do your thing. I’ll be right behind you, anyway.” He winks. It’ll be on a phone instead of a camera, but footage is footage. “Actually, would you mind giving me a lift there?”   
  
“Oh, yeah, sure!” She smiles. “I gotta get changed first, though.” Sugar-Bomb scoots out of their booth, snagging her drink with her tail to pull it into her hand before heading out. Molly idles a few minutes until the emergency sirens start to wail. Phones go a-buzz, villain alert near the Signet Wall. Then it’s time to go. 

Mollymauk keeps an eye out on the rooftops. He sees a flash of red and heads for it, dipping into the alleyways. Sugar-Bomb is there at once, leaping down to meet him, sticking the landing with no apparent trouble. She’s changed to a red tiefling, short horns that curve up and back, a thin, spaded tail. “Ready to go?” She grins, and then promptly throws Mollymauk over her shoulder. 

He laughs, trusting her to get a good grip on him as she pushes off and scales the wall, taking them to the rooftop and leaping over the streets of Zadash. Most heroes figure out some form of mobility — those that can’t fly or sprint stick sirens on a motorcycle and gun it. 

They head for the far end of the city, flitting around the Tri-Spires that loom over the populace and then further. An attack on Zadash’s sect of the Righteous Brand is a gutsy move. The fact that there’s even an alert, though —  _ that’s  _ concerning. Most villains know better than to stage an attack where the heroes are so clustered together. Most villains would be put down without a thought trying such a thing. 

Before he’s prepared, Sugar-Bomb is coming to a halt. She on the edge of a roof, steps back and sets Molly on his feet. “Whoa,” she blinks, as Molly steps up to get a glimpse at what she’d seen. “The  _ fuck _ is up with them?” 

Molly gets his phone recording immediately. There are figures far below, moving through the streets. “They’re not running, that’s… weird,” he frowns, not even slipping into the right persona. The camera zooms somewhat, only getting a blurry figure on the screen as civilians amble below at a slow pace. “Why the hell aren’t they running? The attack’s at the Wall, right?” He turns the camera, just to catch the plume of dust that marks the disaster zone. It’s not frighteningly close, but enough that any person in their right mind would be moving away,  _ fast.  _

He pauses the video as Sugar-Bomb starts to speak, her voice low. “That is  _ super  _ weird. I would have gotten a dismissal if, you know, they got the bad guy.” She checks her phone just in case, shakes her head. Her ears tilt down, tail curling in a nervous manner. 

“Wanna check it out?” Molly suggests. She looks at him, and then she smiles. Molly gets an arm around her shoulders, letting her carry him down the walls of two buildings and back onto the pavement of the wide alley.

They crouch low. He’s not sure exactly how Sugar-Bomb’s illusions work, but she seems to pull the shadows around them, her form in his peripheral growing dull despite the bright colors she’s donned. 

On the main boulevard, just down a block, he can see what looks to be a human shuffling towards them. They move at a slow pace, head hanging down, legs almost shambling. Molly looks to Sugar-Bomb, the two of them exchanging deep frowns. “I’m gonna go check it out,” he whispers. After a beat, she nods, and he slips out of hiding with his video rolling. 

He makes sure to capture the person as they trudge down the block, calling out, “Excuse me! Hello, are you doing alright?” 

They lift their head, looking to Mollymauk. For a moment, their gaze is distant, and then it sharpens, fixed on him. They keep moving forward. 

He turns his head, getting a sweep of the area. They’re not the only person around, two more are further down the block, one walking in the street, all having paused now to look at the source of the noise. “Hello?” He calls again. “What’s — what’s going on? There’s an evac alert, you know.” 

They start moving towards him. The one up the block keeps up their pace, the two further down turn around. “Well that’s just weird,” Molly mutters, edging towards the one that’s alone. He can see Sugar-Bomb still crouched low, eyes intent on him. His head turns, looking full in the face of the human. A woman, short hair, older face. Her gaze is distant, but fixed on him at the same time. She keeps moving — definitely  _ towards  _ him now, not just along her path. 

“Okay. Well, these people are either on something or are in some kind of a trance, and I’m not sure I like either option,” Molly mutters, more out of habit than anything. He stays still, wary gaze on the woman as she approaches. The other three are still further back, still out of range. 

The woman slows. About four paces from Mollymauk, she stops. Her breath swells slow, deep.

Her head rears up. From hanging low, it’s suddenly tilted towards the sky, her jaws parting to reveal yellowed, serrated teeth. And then she shrieks and lunges for him. 

_“Fuck!”_ Molly backpedals. Two steps and then Sugar-Bomb is at his side, tail pressing against his stomach, pressing him out of the way as she pulls the hammer from her back and _swings._ It impacts the woman in the stomach, her breath choking out of her, stumbling back with a horrid gasp. 

Sugar-Bomb grabs Molly and bolts, hoisting him into a fireman’s carry that has him fumbling for his phone, gasping out, “Sugar-Bomb saves my ass as usual. Those people look  _ zombified  _ — oh,  _ gods —!”  _

They round a corner, and stumble into a small hoard. Humans, elves, dragonborn, without discrimination there are sallow, stumbling, sharp-toothed beings that crane their heads around and then immediately swerve around to advance upon them. “Oh, fuck,” Sugar-Bomb gulps, bouncing back and away. “That is a  _ lot  _ of zombies.” 

“Up, up, up,” Molly gasps. She reels back, just in time for one of these  _ things  _ to reach out and swipe at her with gnarled, yellow nails. “Down! Put me down, you need your — _ ”  _

She dumps him onto the ground without question, Molly landing on his ass. Her hammer is in her grip and she’s swinging hard, planted defensively in front of him. The first one falls with another rattling wheeze of pain. It’s just one among a couple dozen. A hand closes on Molly’s tail, and he jerks back, scrabbling up to his feet only to yelp as a hand gets ahold of his jacket and pulls him back down. 

“Molly!” Sugar-Bomb’s voice is a rough cry. More hands are grasping at him. He kicks hard, foot cracks one in the jaw. Two hands off, two more holding fast, clawing, pulling. Sugar-Bomb slams them in the side with her hammer, the body a ragdoll tossed into the street. 

And in this time, they’ve clustered and advanced, several dozen of these veritable zombies now swarming them. Sugar-Bomb grabs him by the jacket, yanking him up by his coat, ears pinned back, tail lashing, hammer in her grasp, Molly’s eyes darting back and forth searching for a single thing he could use to be more than dead weight to her — 

And then a wall of flames erupts in his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad this story's getting a positive reception so far!! Please continue to let me know what you think! <3


	3. Chapter 3

A wall of flame erupts in his face.

The heat drags over his skin, eyes pinching shut and arms thrown to guard himself as best he can. He squints into the light, sees shadows recoiling, the hands that had been grasping at him and Sugar Bomb snatched away. 

And more important is the figure standing in front of them, hands splayed out, hair buffeted by the heat of his own flames. It’s that firebird, who glances over his shoulder and grits out, “I cannot keep this up forever — get him out of here.” 

“Way ahead of you,” Molly gasps, eyes still riveted on the man. It’s  _ incredibly  _ attractive, is the thing. He’s always gotten a faint joy in pulled out of danger — by Sugar Bomb, by Yasha, by Hexblade, by Caduceus.  _ Not  _ by Lionheart. Lionheart bitches at him every single time. 

He backs up towards Sugar Bomb, finding her already getting an arm secure around him and hoisting him up. As she does this, Firebird starts backing up, the flames staying in place. His eyes never leave the wall of flame, and Molly has to wonder how much concentration it takes him to keep it up. 

The thought can’t linger — Sugar Bomb launches herself off the ground to literally bounce off the walls, climbing the cityscape to carry them out of danger. Far below, Firebird drops the flames, turning to run, a new flare encircling his legs to shoot him up into the air after them. The zombies are left underneath them, still grasping at the air, not even seeming to notice that they’ve gone. 

The three of them pile onto a flat rooftop, him and Sugar left panting. Molly drops onto his ass, hand bracing over his chest, head tipping up as he gasps. Sugar hangs low as she catches her breath — the only one not winded by the experience is Firebird, who stands nearby, staring over the edge of the roof and down at the scene below. 

“Holy fuck,” Sugar wheezes. “That was  _ insane.”  _

“You saved my life!” Molly laughs, sounding chipper despite the cold crawling underneath his skin. “Both of you!  _ Again!”  _ And because he can’t help himself, “We’ve  _ really  _ got to stop meeting like this, Firebird.” 

“I agree,” he says. And then, “You… you are the one who started that name, aren’t you? It’s not the most fitting, but it seems to have stuck” He turns, rubbing the edge of his mask, distinctly shaped like a cat. 

Molly gives a sharp laugh.  _ “Whoops.  _ Wasn’t thinking of that when I… it just sounds nice, you know? Names don’t always have to make sense, just sound good. I could hook you up with a new mask if you care about matching the aesthetic.” Could make it himself, in fact. Gold, with red and orange and yellow feathers streaming back with his hair. It would be  _ stunning.  _

But disappointingly enough, he says, “No, I am… good. Thank you.” 

“Thank  _ you.  _ This is twice now you’ve caught me in a bad spot.” 

“What about  _ me!”  _ Sugar Bomb protests.

“I’ve lost count for you, dear,” he says back, smooth and smiling. She grins back. “I owe a couple of life debts, but Herald’s got first dibs. _That one_ is last in line,” and he points to Firebird, who has eased away from the roof’s edge to join them. “Once I’ve risked my life for Herald a couple of times, I’m all yours, Sugar… So, hotshot, you got any more of a clue than us about what the _hell_ is going on?” 

Firebird draws in a deep breath, looking to Sugar Bomb. “I was just responding to the alert. I probably know less than you two.” 

“Well what  _ we  _ know is that there are zombies down there,” Sugar Bomb says. “And they’re  _ super  _ freaky. But.  _ But.  _ I know someone who can  _ definitely  _ figure this out. She’s, like,  _ super good  _ at mysteries. We’ve worked together!” 

“Oh?” Mollymauk tips his head. “Who’s this mysterious detective?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” She giggles. “You’ll come with us too, won’t you?” Her head turns to Firebird. 

“Ah…” He glances to Molly. “I mean. If you think it will help, then, sure. We do not know at all what’s going on. But, ah, is it okay to bring him? He is not a hero, is he?”

“Well if I was, I couldn’t tell you, could I? Maybe I’m the mastermind behind all this.” Molly chuckles. “But I am absolutely coming with you two. I’ve got a story to write, after all. No worries, though, I’m not going to  _ tell  _ anyone you brought me along.  _ You _ may be a vigilante, but Sugar here’s got a sponsor to keep happy.” 

The mask guards Firebird’s face — it’s why Molly hates them so much. It’s impossible to read someone’s expression when there’s none to be seen. “Well. I am… new, to this scene, so I won’t be telling you how to do your job. But both of the two times I have seen him, Mister Mollymauk was in quite a bit of peril. It is just something I think we should consider.” 

Sugar Bomb falters. She glances to Molly, tail drooping. “That’s… that’s true.”

And Molly tamps down a flicker of irritation. “I appreciate the care, I do. But believe me, if I want to put myself into danger, I’m going to. Safer for me to tag along with two heroes than try to solve the mystery all on my lonesome, yeah?” 

“Saf _ est  _ to send you home, Mister Mollymauk. But like I said, I won’t tell you what to do. I am not a hero, I don’t have that authority.” The mask turns to Sugar Bomb. “If you have a lead, please, ah… lead the way.” 

“I don’t, but she  _ definitely  _ does,” Sugar Bomb assures them. Seeming to be convinced by Molly’s words, she hoists him up again. “And if she doesn’t, she’ll find one! She’s super smart and super brave, you’re going to  _ love  _ her.” 

And with that assurance, Sugar Bomb gives a flick of her tail and breaks into a sprint, Mollymauk in her arms and Firebird following close behind. Molly wonders if he can get them to pose for a candid at the end of all this. 

  
  
  


Mollymauk squints up at his own apartment complex.

“Was this a trick?” He asks, grimacing at Sugar Bomb. “Because I’m going to be very cross with you if you’ve tricked me. I  _ will  _ be contesting my life debt to you, in court if I must.” 

“No, she’s going to be meeting us nearby!” Sugar waves a burner phone as she walks, leading them into a damp alleyway wedged between a nameless building and the restaurant Mollymauk was  _ almost  _ certain was a just a front. It smells of old garbage, the dumpster lids open where they were shoved up against a stained wall. 

“... So —” Mollymauk starts, cut off as Sugar Bomb slaps her tail over his mouth. She holds up a hand, a clear symbol for  _ ‘Wait.’  _ And then she cups her hands around her mouth and coos like a pigeon. 

The silence stretches out. Then, a low, raspy voice calls out,  _ “What’s the password?”  _

Molly looks to Firebird, who is looking at Sugar Bomb. Sugar Bomb, who draws out a long, “Uhhhhh…” Hesitates. “I… don’t have a password.” 

_ “No password, no business.”  _

“But you didn’t give me one!” 

_ “Yes I did!”  _

“No, you didn’t!”

_ “Check your phone!”  _

Sugar Bomb grumbles as she pulls out her burner again, scrolling through a few blocky texts. Her head snaps up, “There’s no password!” 

A quiet curse sounds from behind the dumpster, a long pause stretching out. Molly taps his foot, brow furrowed as he glances between his two companions.

Sugar’s phone buzzes.

She mumbles something, the dim glow lighting the alley as she checks her texts. When she finds it, it’s a triumphant, “Fluffernutter!”

_ “So you  _ are  _ the ones I’m waiting for.”  _ A small figure moves into view, Molly squinting at the — gnome, maybe? Slimmer and shorter than a dwarf or a halfling, he’s not sure what to make of this person. When she lifts her face, it’s covered by a porcelain baby doll mask. Even if Mollymauk has seen far weirder, it still makes his tail twitched, faintly disturbed.

“This is your detective?” He asks, looking at Sugar Bomb. 

It’s Firebird who speaks up first, not addressing Molly, but by going, “Oh. Hello, Nott.” 

She starts. “Oh — oh C — ohhhhh… hello  _ stranger,  _ who I absolutely do not know.”

“You know her?” Sugar Bomb gasps, looking to Firebird. 

Nott’s vehement  _ no!  _ Is denied by a nod from Firebird. “She is… a partner of sorts. We help each other,” he says. “Nott, it is alright. You know Miss, uh… Miss Sugar Bomb here. And perhaps you have heard of Mister Mollymauk?” 

“Apparently I’m the only one who hasn’t met you!” Molly chimes in, with a smile. 

“We are, ah, in a bit of a predicament. Sugar Bomb insists that you will be able to, uhm, deduce the source of the current troubles. But I do believe if you had a lead already, you would have told me.”

“Yes, yes, of course I would.” Nott wrings her hands in front of herself. “Except that, well, I only just found out what was going on. I was — I was trying to sort my collection out when Sugar Bomb sent me like, _ fifty  _ texts. I — I have a limit on those, you know. It costs money.” She pats her front pocket, and then her back pocket, and pulls out a little flask and takes a drink. “So, um, while you all were coming here, I did my thing. You know, like, the  _ deep web. Hacking.  _ All — all that stuff.” 

Mollymauk thinks he likes her, mask or no. “And what did you find?” 

Nott is quiet. And then, in a stage whisper he can hear perfectly,  _ “Can we trust him?”  _

Sugar Bomb snorts on a laugh. “You can  _ totally  _ trust Molly. He’s super cool.” Her tail curls around his own, flashing a grin at him as Molly blows her a kiss. 

Still, Nott pauses until Firebird gives a nod of his own. And then she says, “Alright, then. Well, when I was doing my  _ deep web hacking,  _ I was able to get in contact with someone who works with the Righteous Brand, and  _ they  _ told me that there is some kind of…  _ horrible beast  _ turning people into even more horrible beasts. It’s  _ disgusting.  _ He’s like — like a giant  _ toad,  _ all covered in  _ mucus.”  _

Mollymauk cocks his head. “So like, a shifter type?” His gaze pans to Jester. “Haven’t seen many of those.” 

“A shifter who can also turn people into strange thralls,” Firebird murmurs. “That is troublesome. It does not seem there is a limit to this ability of his. And the people under his effect — will they be okay?” 

There’s a beat of troubled silence. Molly breaks it with, “Well, there’s only one way to find out: I think we’ve gotta head straight to the source. Do you know where he is, Nott?” 

She shakes her head. “No. No, he was seen inside the Righteous Brand HQ, fucked shit up, and then ran. That’s all I got from — from my  _ contact.”  _

“Huh.” Mollymauk straightens up. “Well that’s surprisingly helpful.” 

“I suppose we could start at the Brand and fan out,” Firebird murmurs. And then, “Mister Mollymauk, I think it is time that you do go home. This person seems very dangerous.” 

“Absolutely not,” he replies, with a smile. _ “Nott. _ Hah. But no, it is the same thing from before — either I go with you two, and you keep me safe, or I go there anyway but I’m helpless and all alone. Your choice, hero.” 

A long beat of silence stretches out. “You, Mister Mollymauk, are becoming less and less charming with every word,” Firebird informs him.

“So you thought I was charming!” His tail curls, his grin broadens. “That was  _ your _ mistake. Now, come on, the longer we dilly-dally, the more zombies are running around, probably. Limping around. Whatever it is they do.”

“Shamble, I think,” Firebird murmurs. 

“What if they skipped,” Sugar Bomb chimes in. “If  _ I  _ could make zombies, I would make them skip.”

“I would  _ love _ to see that,” Molly says, turning towards her. Sugar crouches down and he leaps onto her back in the same motion, the two of them giving Firebird an expectant look. 

He sighs, turns to Nott. “Would you like to come with us? You could stay by Mister Mollymauk, do your sharpshooter thing from a safe place.”

“If you want me to go, I will,” Nott says. “I brought ol’ pointy-shooty with me, just in case this was some kind of a  _ sting.”  _ As she says this, Firebird scoops her up to set her on his shoulders, a strange bundle of dark material and babydoll mask that only grows into a proper nightmare as his fire starts to swirl around his legs. 

Sugar Bomb and Firebird take off, the rush of air becoming more and more familiar to Mollymauk. More and more like something he distantly remembers, something he swears he’s felt before. 

He swallows, a thickness in his throat, and pushes it aside. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was actually a bit longer but this seemed like a better stopping point. The good news is that it means next chapter has a head start!


	4. Chapter 4

To call the Brand Headquarters  _ fucked up  _ is generous. 

An entire wall had been torn out from the inside, probably by something very large, very strong, and very angry. They had spotted a few zombies in the Brand armor wandering through the roads on their way, the streets thankfully empty of anyone else, all healthy civilians safely evacuated deeper into Zadash. There are only heroes and victims populating this empty section of the city — and Mollymauk. 

As Sugar Bomb sets him down, he pulls out his phone, intending to shoot a message to Yasha. There’s already a message waiting for him. Mollymauk sighs as he announces, “Herald’s stuck helping with evac. Lionheart, too.” He taps back a cheerful  _ I’m safe!  _ And tries not to feel too bad about it.  _ Technically,  _ it’s not a lie. Not in this moment.

The surrounding area is scattered with crumbled brick and shattered glass. Firebird and Nott are shifting closer to the building, getting a good look around. There’s a crossbow in Nott’s hand, now, and he can’t quite fathom where it had come from but she holds it with confidence. 

They spread out along the area, Sugar Bomb keeping close to Molly, her tail twined loosely around his own. It’s Nott’s voice that calls out, scratchy and pitched, “Hey there’s some weird  _ goo  _ here!” 

“Don’t touch it!” Is Firebird’s immediate response. He picks his way over, glass crunching under his boots. As Molly and Sugar Bomb draw closer, they spot a wet, shiny ring on the ground, looking to be some kind of thick, viscous liquid. Firebird finds sizeable shard of glass on the ground and touches it the wet spot. It clings to the glass as he lifts it, a string of mucus rising for nearly a foot long before it breaks and splats back to the concrete. 

_ “Gross,” _ Sugar Bomb says. “Hey, Nott, you said the freaky monster was covered in boogers, right?” 

“That’s  _ right!”  _ Nott says, gasping and pointing to her. And then, with full appreciation in her voice, “Once again, your  _ deducing  _ abilities are amazing.”

Sugar giggles, bashful and pleased.  _ “Soooo…  _ what the fuck does that mean?”

“I think,” Firebird breaks in, “that this means we may have a path. Can you all look around, see if there are more of these spots? Ah, be careful of touching it, though. We do not know what it does.”

“It could be what made the zombies,” Molly says, breaking away from the group to start scouting the ground. The others follow suit, fanning out across the area in search of any kind of trail.  _ If I were a horrifying toad monster, where would I go?  _ It’s not a mindset he can really put himself into. 

He does put his foot into a puddle of goo, though. The sensation is terrible, a thin film breaking under his weight to spatter mucus over the ground. His blood curdles in his veins, shoulders jerking up towards his ears. He’s wearing boots, thank the  _ gods,  _ all thick soles and leather that protects his bare skin. 

“Hey — I found some!” He shouts, dragging his shoe over the ground to get the slime off of it. The others hurry to him as he says, “Keep going, let’s see if it actually leads anywhere.”

A little investigation reveals a trail. It’s spread out, not like footsteps. More like something is leaping from place to place — makes sense, if they’re dealing with a toad monster. Something had been bounding through the city, and they follow its path, each of them picking a direction to spread out in and calling the others along when they find the next track. It pulls them deeper into Zadash, towards the industrial center: all heavy, low buildings and garages. 

They come to a halt outside one such garage. Subtly enough, the bottom of the door is heavily dented, two thick piles of mucus pooled outside. Firebird motions to them to follow him, creeping off with quiet steps. They follow, huddling up against the opposite wall of a neighboring garage. 

“We should not go in through the front. Find another entrance. If there were more of us, I would prefer a distraction, but —  _ no,  _ Mollymauk.” Molly deflates, practically feeling the glare under that mask. 

“Come on. I’m quick, I’m quiet,” he says. “The first time you met me was a total fluke!”

“Actually,” Nott says, voice contemplative. “You wanted me to stick with him, right?” She tips her head to Molly, waiting for Firebird’s nod. “I could go with him. Both of us could sneak around! Sugar Bomb could send us a text, and then I  _ shoot  _ the door! We make a bit of a ruckus and  _ you two  _ burst in, firehands blazing and — and hammer swinging! It would be  _ awesome.”  _

“That’s a  _ great _ plan,” Molly says. He gestures to her, “Seriously! That is a genuinely great plan! You two get the element of surprise, and we stay out of danger.”

Sugar Bomb peers at him. “It  _ is  _ a pretty good plan,  _ I  _ think,” she says. 

There’s a visible moment of hesitation before Firebird heaves a sigh. “Alright. That — that is pretty solid. But both of you stay  _ back.  _ Okay? Out of view, out of danger.”

“Okay!” Both Molly and Nott chorus it, Molly grinning. There’s an excitement thrumming under his skin. “Just send a text once you guys are ready,” he says. “You’ll know by the absolute racket we cause.” 

Firebird sighs, but nods. “We are relying on the two of you, then.  _ Stay safe.  _ Run if there’s danger.” 

And with that, they split. 

  
  
  


Nott is a strange woman, that’s all Molly can think. She has a flask she drinks from nervously, speaks rapidly with a fluctuating tone and volume that has him sometimes curling his tail across the front of her creepy babydoll mask as a reminder to  _ keep it down.  _

They’ve taken their place at the mouth of a street with a view on the garage, roofs that are low enough they could easily scramble up with a boost and some acrobatics. Nott had procured a knife from  _ somewhere,  _ much like her crossbow, handing it to Mollymauk as a  _ just in case.  _ The buzz of Molly’s phone is the cue they’d been working for, Sugar Bomb sending a string of candy and sparkling emojis that has Molly chuckling before he says to Nott, “Spotlight’s on you.” 

And like that, the skittish, fumbling woman she’d been melts away. The crossbow is steady as she points, takes a breath, shoots. It’s a heavy  _ snap,  _ and then there’s the clang as the bolt slams into the garage door. In a heartbeat, Nott has drawn another bolt and fired, another raucous clatter.

Mollymauk cups his hands, projecting his voice deep and booming as he shouts,  _ “Surrender! We have you surrounded!”  _

“What faction are we from?” Nott hisses. “What’s our  _ Team Name.”  _

“You tell me,” Molly chuckles, as she pulls and sends another bolt against the door. 

“ _ Ooooh,  _ how about…” 

She never gets to finish the sentence. There’s a muffled bellow, one that has Molly’s tail straightening in alarm and Nott ducking for cover behind them. “Oh  _ gods,”  _ she gasps. And then she gives a nervous laugh, “I sure am glad that we’re out here… two perfectly capable heroes doing the job.” 

“Yeah…” Mollymauk frowns. The idea had been for them to head for cover as soon as Firebird and Sugar jumped in. Still, he hesitates, he listens to the muffled battle — most of the sound indiscriminate crashes and roars from something monstrous. “So, what’s your whole thing, Nott? Are you a civilian, or a hero, or what?”

“Oh I’m definitely not a hero.”

“Nott a hero?”

She glares at him. “Not a hero. I am not. I —  _ fuck you!”  _ She shouts, as Molly starts cackling. “I don’t know what I am, but it’s not — it  _ isn’t  _ a hero. Maybe I’m more of a… civilian consultant slash vigilante.” 

“You’re pretty good with that crossbow,” he points out. “You ever consider enlisting?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, fumbling on the word. “No, I’m — I’m perfectly happy staying  _ right here,  _ where it’s  _ safe.”  _

From inside the garage, there’s an even louder shriek, and then a crash. And then the door comes off. 

Mollymauk moves faster than he’d known he could, tackling Nott to the ground as the metal door hits the concrete and skids. Metal shrieks against the pavement, his ears flattening against the sound. They both look up, seeing Sugar Bomb standing just at the new entrance to the garage, seeing the mess the interior has become, seeing the horrifying beast currently picking itself up off the ground. 

It’s grotesque, disproportionate with arms that are too long and too heavy for its body, a squat sort of head that is indistinguishable from the rest of its torso. Even at a distance, he can see the creature is covered in warts, bulbous growths that gives its entire body a mottled texture, all shining with mucous. It’s covered in slime that seems to bubble up from pores that swell and deflate, its very flesh seeming to pulse out of time.

Nott  _ screams.  _ It's a hoarse, raucous sound, and Molly can't shut her  _up_ before t he creature whirls to set its sights on them. The eyes are glowing, red with hatred as it bellows. 

“Time to go!” Molly yelps, grabbing Nott by the arm to haul her off. There's a sound like a grunt from behind. A shadow passes over them, and then a heavy impact as the creature comes down in front of them, blocking off their escape route in a single leap. They skid to a halt as it stalks towards them, its tongue lolling out, a slimy chunk of red flesh attached by stringy muscle. 

Nott is still screaming, the sound ringing in his ears. There’s a heavy  _ snap,  _ and a  bolt is suddenly lodged in the creatures chest, almost swallowed up by the thick rolls of its skin. It doesn’t so much as flinch. Another roar tears from its chest as it swipes at them, Mollymauk reeling backwards and dragging Nott with him. “Keep shooting it!” He shouts. Nott’s hands are shaking as she loads another bolt into her crossbow.  _ Snap.  _ It flies wide. 

Mollymauk grips Nott’s knife as they turn and run, the weapon feeling small and insufficient. He gets three bounds before something grabs him by the tail and  _ yanks,  _ a high-pitched yelp torn from his throat. And then it turns into a sound of horror, a jabbered,  _ “No no no,”  _ as he’s reeled backwards, a large, slimy hand grabbing him around the middle and  _ squeezing.  _ His breath is choked out of him. His ribs creak under his skin. Nails pierce into his belly, the flesh feeling hot, blood spilling around its claws. 

_ “Molly!”  _ Sugar’s voice, a scream. Mollymauk stabs blindly at the hand. It plunges under thin flesh, bone scraping against the blade. The creature shrieks in pain and fury, and Molly drops, hitting his feet and falling to his knees. Heart thudding, he twists over onto his back, staring up at it with wide eyes as it looms over him and rears back a meaty paw, knife still embedded in its flesh.

Red bursts in his vision. It pours down the creature’s cheeks, brimming in its eyes like tears. When its hand comes down, it clears Mollymauk, cracking the concrete under its force how it would have cracked his bones. 

He wheezes shock, scrambling to his feet. Sugar is suddenly there and hauling him up by his armpits as a line of fire streaks across the ground. The sound of the beast’s agony pierces the air. It thrums against his eardrums as Sugar Bomb pulls him to safety before sprinting back with Firebird, her hammer hoisted with violence. 

Mollymauk watches them beat it down. They're well-coordinated despite being an impromptu match: Firebird opens up his inferno to let her through, Sugar keeps it from laying a paw on him in turn. And Mollymauk leans back against the wrecked garage wall with wetness on his cheeks. It's sticky, thick. He drags his hand under his eye and finds it streaked bright red with blood. 

Had he been hit? He rubs his face with his shirt, adding to the dark stains in the material. There are no cuts on his face, just the punctures from the creature’s talons under his shirt. 

With a final impact, Sugar Bomb deals the finishing blow. The toad staggers, and then keels over entirely, hitting the ground with a splatting sound. It leaves to two heroes panting, their shoulders heaving, the flames slowly curling out. 

Sugar straightens up. She turns and runs towards Molly, a worried, “Are you okay!” bursting from her mouth. Molly’s already putting up a hand, an attempt to wave her off overriden completely as she yanks his shirt up, wincing at the sight of his abdomen. “Oh,  _ Molly.”  _

“Is he hurt?” Firebird asks, approaching at a slower pace. 

“Just a flesh wound!” Molly calls. “Though I might turn into a zombie, now. Oh, gods.” He shuts his eyes, drawing a deep breath at the flare of  _panic._ Those shambling people —

“Oh shit,” Sugar Bomb grimaces.  _ “Um.  _ Well, we took care of the big ugly monster, soooo I think it’s time for you to go to a hospital. Like,  _ now.”  _ She gets his arm around his shoulders, holding onto him and lifting as Molly protests despite it all, “I can  _ walk.”  _

He can’t really do anything to stop Sugar from just hoisting him up into her arms, though He doesn’t need a hospital, he needs someone to tell him if he’s going to be a fucking zombie in a matter of time. He'd like to at least see Yasha before he goes. He'd like to know if that’s what made him bleed from his gods-damned eyes. 

Sugar Bomb hauls him off, leaving Firebird down on his own to scout out where Nott had vanished to. She was fine, at least. So was Firebird, so was Sugar. And hopefully Mollymauk was, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Caduceus Clay is a fellow with gentle hands, a drawling voice, and a brain that can’t seem to stay on the right track. Mollymauk likes him quite a bit. 

He was the first hero Mollymauk had ever seen, after Yasha. The man made his debut within the first few weeks of Mollymauk’s… consciousness, he supposes. The day he woke up with no memory, no name, and barely any words. Yasha looked after him as best she could, treating him with the same cautious care that one might a feral kitten, and slowly he became a person. One who didn't have a childhood, just a blur of colors and sensations that he couldn't pull to the forefront of his mind any longer.

They were on a grocery trip when a villain’s minions descended upon the city, and Caduceus first made himself known by summoning a swarm of beetles, centipedes, spiders, locusts, whatever other creepy-crawlies were bent to his whims. The attackers surrendered  _ quite  _ quickly at that point. 

The thing about Caduceus Clay is that everybody  _ knows  _ he’s Caduceus Clay. His codename is just his first name, for starters. And then he forgot his mask on his second appearance.

Mollymauk likes him  _ quite a bit.  _

A good thing, too, because Mollymauk  _ doesn’t  _ like needles and all the other strange pokey things that doctors tend to wield. The sterile atmosphere makes his throat tight, compared to Caduceus’ comfortable teashop that sits right next to the local graveyard. 

“No magic mushrooms for me, doc?” Molly smiles, shirtless and hunched over as Caduceus pokes at his side. He hisses, expression scrunching and tail lashing. Sugar and Firebird are there with him, one looking shamelessly on and the other glancing away. Molly would ordinarily be stretching out, showing the musculature that morning yoga has afforded him, but he’s about an inch away from gasping infernal curses and for  _ once  _ in no mood for peacocking.

Caduceus straightens up to his full, dazzling height, eyes blinking in that slow way that Mollymauk can’t interpret. If he's spacing out, or is everything's fine, he has no means of telling.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures Molly, a big paw of a hand patting his shoulder. He shuffles over to a cabinet, pulling out a tin and a kettle, filling it with water. “There’s a bit of gunk all over it but that can be cleaned up. Just need to _keep_ it clean.”

Molly would slump in relief if that wouldn’t make the wounds scream with pain. “Great,” he breathes. “So no zombification, that sounds like a deal.”

Caduceus turns his head, the stove clicking before the fire catches. “Zombies?” He repeats, frowning. 

“That is why we are here,” Firebird pipes up. “Mister Mollymauk here suffered a bite from what we believe was the source of the, ah,  _ zombified  _ civilians. Is that going to do the same thing to him?” He gestures to the bite.

“Oh,” Caduceus frowns. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe.” 

The cold sensation crystallizes back under his skin, Mollymauk drawing a slow, nervous breath. He doesn’t know what he's going to tell Yasha — 

“Good news!” Jester chirps. “All the zombies are getting their brains back! So even if you  _ do  _ go all  _ crazy,  _ you’ll be fine!” 

— and he finally slumps. 

And then immediately cusses at the flare of pain, groaning as he leans back against the couch. Caduceus’ back room is very comfortable, a sitting room evidentally repurposed as a medical bay. Heroes tend to pop in and out of this place nowadays. The man can apparently not only communicate with plants, animals, and fungi, but also grow the latter for specific purposes. As Molly watches Caduceus move about his kitchen and pull down a cup for the tea he has brewing, Mollymauk hopes this one is some sort of painkiller.

He finds out that whatever was brewing knocked him out for the rest of the day. He doesn’t remember getting home, just opens his eyes, only half-awake, and finds Yasha’s familiar weight at his side. Mollymauk gives a heavy exhale as he sinks against her to sleep through the rest of the night. 

She’s furious in the morning — not her battle rage, that would be easier to deal with. She’s cold, she’s distant, she doesn’t meet his eyes when he speaks. He knows it’s because she doesn’t want him to see the fear in her gaze. He sees it in every other piece of her all the same. 

Mollymauk speaks up when he can't stand it any longer and says, “You think you could teach me to fight?” 

  
  
  


Yasha is not the teacher he needs. She kicks his ass into the ground and then looks guilty about it, because Mollymauk’s arms get sore trying to heft the great weapons she favors and he can’t even hope to dodge her grapple. 

The _lovely_ thing is that Lionheart is unable to say no to Yasha when she requests access to the gym of the Cobalt Soul. She’s perfectly happy to agree to let Herald into her private training room. She’s considerably  _ less  _ pleased to realize Mollymauk is tagging along. 

Molly blows a kiss to her as they pass, tail curling with amusement. There’s no subtlety as Lionheart pulls Yasha aside to hiss,  _ “What are you doing with the walking tapestry?” _

“Nothing short of bubble wrapping him in a cell will keep him out of trouble, Yasha says, voice flat. “I can at least give him a fighting chance.”

“So he’ll have even  _ more  _ confidence getting under our feet,” Lionheart scoffs. 

A grin splits Molly’s face as he strolls through the door. The gym provides padded flooring that he bounces on as he walks. Lionheart lives up to her codename as she stalks around the raised outer perimeter, glowering at him. 

Yasha remains in the doorway, Molly dragging his gaze away from Lionheart to shoot her a quizzical look. She frowns around the room, visibly hesitating before saying, “Actually, um… is there more of an outdoor area we could train in?”

“I mean, yeah, sure,” Lionheart grumbles, crossing her arms. “What for? Hey — do tieflings get tans?”

Mollymauk doesn’t answer. He’s looking at the strange, faint smile that’s blooming across Yasha’s lips. He doesn’t like that smile. 

“The first thing that Mollymauk needs to learn,” Yasha says, “is how to run. And not get caught.”

Molly’s grin slips, replaced by the one that breaks out on Lionheart’s face. 

  
  
  


Within a month, Mollymauk has learned how to run from Yasha’s brute force but  _ not  _ Lionheart’s fucking  _ ridiculous  _ speed. _Cheetah-legs_ would be a more accurate codename, as Molly has no hope outpacing her, nor outsmarting her. He just  _ can’t  _ run that fast, she springs around corners and off of the walls, no number of objects tossed in her path or scouted hiding spots has cut him a break. The point of this exercise has been lost to him — he’s better off trying to take a strike at her.

Even as bare terror leads him to scramble up to the rooftop, he still can’t escape her, just finds Lionheart standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and bemusement on her face.

“Dude, what the fuck,” she says, glancing over his heaving, sweaty form. 

He’s pressed onto his belly, knee braced on a roof tile to the point of aching. “What do you  _ want  _ from me?” He groans, cheek pressing down onto the ceramic. 

“There’s birdshit on that,” Lionheart tells him, and Molly recoils with a disgusted noise. “But like. You just scaled that shit like a cat, my guy. You take parkour classes or some shit?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, a shake of his head. “It’s a special program where two ladies hunt me down until I fucking collapse.”

Lionheart stares at him for a long moment, Mollymauk holding her gaze with his own droopy eyes. Then she scoffs, “You’re fucking weird.”

“What tipped you off?” Molly’s limbs shake as he pushes himself up. He looks over the edge, swallowing a groan of despair. He still has to get  _ down.  _

Lionheart hovers somewhere at his shoulder. “Seriously, you’re  _ weird.  _ You just  _ show up  _ one day and — how’d you meet Herald, anyway?”

“Childhood friends,” he quips, voice made flat as he tries to calculate how he’d gotten up here in the first place. 

“What?” Lionheart sneers. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Molly snickers. “But I  _ do  _ know who she is.”

“Sure you do.” Her disdain brings a grin to his face. 

It slips a moment later as he feels a boot at his back. A breath sucks into his lungs, he pitches forward, falls and curls and tumbles, hitting the ground in a roll. Heels fly up into the air and slam back down on the concrete, Mollymauk left stunned on his back, staring up at the sky with wide eyes and a thundering heart. 

Lionheart lands neatly in front of him as he springs, snarling, to his feet. She doesn’t so much as flinch, gaze hidden behind her mask but chin tipped in such a way that he knows she’s looking down at him. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ was that?” he hisses, tongue curling the words to an infernal growl. 

“You’re fine,” she snorts. Pauses. “You’re fine, right? Fucking  _ hell  _ did I break your back —”   
  
_ “You could have!”  _ Molly spits the words. 

Lionheart’s remorse evaporates as she draws herself up and snaps back, “But I  _ didn’t.  _ You had fucking —  _ perfect  _ form, man. Seriously, you’re trying to tell me you don’t train outside of this?”

His skin prickles, hot and cold. “No, I don't,” he growls out. 

“Then where are you  _ from?”  _ She leans towards him, Molly squaring his shoulders, tail coiling behind him. “Look, man, you’re suspicious as fuck. You come out of fuckall  _ nowhere,  _ you hang around Herald and  _ stalk  _ the rest of us, and now you’re just getting up and down buildings like you were trained to —!”

“You said it yourself, I’m  _ weird!”  _ He steps back.

“Nobody is  _ that  _ fucking weird—”

_ “I  _ am!” His tail lashes. Warmth bursts in the corner of his eye. He snaps around, hiding his face as blood dribbles over his cheek. Lionheart makes a strangled sound behind him, a strained  _ “Wait —”  _ that he doesn’t listen to, already sprinting. 

Blood drips off his jaw, swiped hastily away. He’s halfway home before he stops to catch his breath, pedestrians giving him a wide berth as he doubles over and gulps in each breath. 

His own blood is smeared across the back of his palm. Copper burns his tongue as he laps it off, using his own saliva to try to wash away the rest of the red off his skin. 

He staggers as he walks. It’s thoughtless as he twists his hair up into a plain-looking bun, takes the jewelry off his horns and out of his ears, slips the coat off. He loves being in the spotlight, but not today. He doesn’t want to be recognized like this. 

And yet, he’s tensing as he hears a voice loom behind him, “Ah… M — Mollymauk?”

Wincing, he turns, a lie poised on his tongue,  _ I get that sometimes but no,  _ that pauses when he sees who it is. Red-toned hair and stubble leaning towards scruff, Molly breaks into a smile as he exclaims, “Mister Caleb!” He brightens, and then wishes he hadn’t dressed down after all. The man looks good, despite needing a shave and hiding in a long, brown coat. “Looks like my fortune is returning at last.”

Dismay curdles in his stomach only a beat later as he watches concern paint itself on Caleb’s face. “Are you alright?” He asks, in that pretty zemnian voice. A hand lifts for just a moment before it falls back to his side. “There is, ah… blood. On your face.” 

Mollymauk pulls in a deep breath. Another lie leaves with it, “Not mine. Some guy ate shit and got his nosebleed on my gods-damned face.”

Caleb frowns as he looks him over, looking unconvinced. Mollymauk pulls out his phone, the way of his tail meant to convey calm and humor. He opens the front-facing camera, wicning at the sight of himself. There’s a crimson blotch smeared across his cheek, but no visible cut or wound, just a thicker, brighter streak trailing from the corner of his eye. 

“Gods I look disgusting. Of all the ways for a handsome man to see me.” He sighs in a tragic fashion. Maybe flirting while his face is bloody isn’t his greatest ploy, but confidence is key.

“A little,” Caleb agrees, and Molly gawks at him in feigned offense. He laughs at him, adds, “I am not trying to judge you. Or, ah, criticize. There was a time when I looked far worse than just having a bit of blood on my cheek.”

“Oh?” As Caleb begins to walk, Molly strolls after him. His step is slow and exhausted, and he doesn’t miss as the man slows his pace. “Are you looking to share with the class, Mister Caleb?”

There’s a long stretch where Caleb is quiet. Molly is a beat away from changing the subject before the man draws in a breath, says, “I, ah… lost my job some time ago, and it left me on the streets. I was in a very bad place until a dear friend saved me.” 

Caleb is staring down at the ground when Molly turns his gaze back to him. “Well,” he says, uncertain. “... Glad to know that I still look pretty to you.”

It earns him a long, scrutinizing look before Caleb turns his gaze back down the road. Molly bites back a sigh, his lips crooking into a grin. “Are you on your way home?” He asks. 

“ _ Mmm.  _ I need to feed my cat.” 

They turn a corner to see their complex rising over the street. Molly’s hands are still trembling as he digs through his coat for his keys. He finds them in an inside pocket, only to let them drop to the pavement. He stoops down at once, cursing.

His hand layers over Caleb’s. His eyes lift, finding the man looking back at him. The man’s eyes flicker away as he straightens up, holding Molly’s keys out to him. “Are you… certain that you are alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Molly assures him, plastering on an even brighter grin. “Seriously, just, training is rough. I’m trying to get better at running, cause my luck’s been getting worse and worse with these villain attacks.”

Caleb holds the door open for him, Mollymauk dipping his head graciously as they stroll through the front lobby. “Have you considered turning to a different occupation?”

“What, like writing polls?  _ Which hero is your type.”  _ He chuckles. “I’m kind of an adrenalin junkie, nothing would change. Though while we’re on the subject — which hero _is_ your type?” 

Caleb seems to freeze up. Molly watches him, eyebrows raised, as the silence stretches on. 

_ Ding,  _ goes the elevator, and the doors rattle open. 

“Well,  _ my  _ type is... most of them, actually,” Molly says. “Sugar is as sweet as her name. I’d  _ love  _ to get saved by Caduceus, but wouldn’t we all. Firebird princess carried me twice so I feel like a regular Louis Lane in his arms.” 

Caleb heaves a deep sigh. Molly holds up his hands but goes quiet, leaning against the elevator wall as the doors shut and lift them up towards their floor. The man is decidedly avoiding his gaze.  _ Ah, well.  _ If people don’t like how he acts, they can avoid him. 

“I’ll be seeing you, then,” Molly says, as the doors open. He’s the first one through, eager for a cool shower to wash the sweat and blood off his skin. 

He’s almost to his door when he hears, “Mollymauk.” 

He turns. Caleb is a few steps behind him, brow knitted, lips pulled down. “Be careful. If you could be discouraged from your job, you would have stopped by now. So at least be careful. Do not throw yourself into danger.” 

Molly gives him a smile as he slips a trembling key into the door’s lock. “Thank you, Mister Caleb,” he purrs. “But don’t worry about me, the heroes have yet to let me down.” 

It only gets him a long suffering sigh from the man, who shakes his head as he turns towards his own door. Molly lingers, watching as he slips inside, hears the mew of his cat welcoming him home. Then he opens the door, pulling his shirt up over his head as he kicks it back shut behind him, leaving a trail of clothes leading to the bathroom for a well-deserved soak. 


	6. Chapter 6

Beauregard doesn’t frequent this area. What lies beyond the stretch of the Righteous Brand’s influence is difficult terrain, villains running amok with no one to whack them into shape. Beau herself had her days of rebellion, deemed a criminal vigilante before the Cobalt Soul scooped her up. 

The city of Glory Run is among the worst of these places, no walled-off perimeter, what heroes  _ are  _ stationed there easily paid off if they don’t actively participate in their own brand of villainy. It’s a rough job, coming out here, but it’s not a job she can dismiss. 

At her side, Herald keeps pace with her, bending the wind around her body as Beau flits over rooftops. Herald, who she met bloodied and bruised and snarling, who came from these outskirts and was fixed under glares and scrutiny for months, who would talk only to Beauregard for all that time, of all the monks in the Cobalt Soul. 

Who is  _ smoking hot.  _

That’s not relevant. 

The city here is cramped and dark. Night's fall brings bars down over windows, locks turned, lights off. Further back, the still-active skyscrapers, the street lights and neon signs, the graveyard shift businesses, they all provide the eerie illumination that lights this city and blurs underneath Beau’s feet.

She pushes off the edge of a roof, hits the wall of the neighboring building and hauls herself up its surface. With a grunt of effort, she hoists herself up over the edge, coming to a halt there, out of view of any pedestrians below. 

Herald touches down with a lightness that contrasts her frame — tall and broad-shouldered and muscular, she could carry Beau under one arm. 

That’s not important.

“Here good?” Beau asks, gruff.

“It’s good enough.” Herald turns her eyes out across the city. There’s a mask that she wears over the lower half of her face, her hair tied up and out of the way. Mismatched eyes leave Beau dumbstruck and dry-mouthed. “They’ll be meeting…” Herald lifts a hand to point. 

It’s a full moon shining down tonight, the sky starless around it. A tower of a building rises up, not the tallest in the city, but surrounded by larger, quiet structures. It’s the perfect place to hide a midnight rendezvous from prying eyes.

“When are we expecting them, again?” Beau grunts, hunkering down. 

Herald settles down as well, sitting cross-legged and facing that building. “No specific time. Just, past midnight. That’s what I got.”

Beau winces, both at the prospect of the  _ wait  _ and Herald’s choice of positioning. “Heyyyy,” she drawls. “Uh. You’re kind of, just, right out there, you know? Like. They’re gonna…  _ see  _ you.”

“Oh.” Herald’s inflection, as usual, is hard to interpret. She turns, facing Beau, her gaze electric in the moonlight. “What should I do, then?”

Beau swallows, taking a hasty glance around. Her goggles frame the night into discernable shades, confirming there are in fact no villains to provide her an escape. “They’re higher up than us, so they have a better visual. We wanna actually get closer, at an angle they won’t be able to see. So, uh…” She strides to the raised lip of the roof, and then lays down against it. “Like this.”

She watches out of the corner of her eyes as Herald copies her, laying down so their heads are close, a slight shift in her hair where Herald nudges the bun. 

Beau has to choke her own voice out of her throat. “ _ So.”  _ She stares at the moon. “How’s the, uh… license treating you? Big hero, now.”

Herald is quiet. Anxiety crawls up in Beau’s chest, trying to grasp for the words to dismiss herself. 

And then Herald speaks. “I feel like I do not deserve it,” she murmurs. “I am called a hero, when I know that I am… not.”

A pause.

“You were a vigilante before we found you, right?” Beau risks. She’s thankful that at least like this, she doesn’t have to meet Herald’s eyes. 

“Something like that,” Herald says, soft. 

Beau hums, lips pulling into a strained line. “Uh… I —  _ I  _ used to be a smuggler, you know,” she coughs. “Since I can move real fast, did sewer runs as kind of a  _ fuck you  _ to my dad. It’s. It’s kind of petty, now that I’m talking about it?” Her brow cinches. 

She sucks in a breath and rolls up to take a peek at the rooftop. There’s another team stationed at another angle, keeping their own watch.  _ Nothing.  _ She flattens herself back onto the roof.

“Anything there?” Herald asks. 

“No.”

They lay in quiet. Beau’s eyes squeeze shut, counting seconds through her head to calm the uneven beat of her heart.

“I was…” Herald’s voice sounds again, so hushed that Beau nearly misses it. She hesitates before giving a prompting hum, listening to the shake of Herald’s breath. 

“I was fighting to survive,” she says. “I was not a good person. I did not do good things.” The sound of her breath is shuddering. “It would… lose myself. I do not remember the worst things that I’ve done, but I can only imagine… And now, I am called a hero.”

Beau’s mind feels blank. She gives a drawn-out,  _ “Uhhhhh,”  _ before finding the words, “That…  _ sucks.”  _

Her heart stops. She bites back a curse, eyes squeezing tight.  _ “Fuck.  _ What I  _ mean  _ is that, uh. Sometimes — sometimes we don’t really have a choice. Like, I made the decision to be a shithead kid. But, like. You said it yourself. You were just trying to  _ survive.  _ That’s beyond you, man.” 

Her eyes peek open as she speaks, the moon blurred in half-lidded vision. Herald gives a quiet, “ _ Yeah,”  _ and leaves it at that. 

Beau sighs. She rolls up again, peeking over the edge. Still nothing. 

The bad guys couldn’t arrive soon enough.

She’s grown used to stakeouts, but nothing makes the time pass faster. It’s a regular roll-and-peek to check, pinging the other team with updates of  _ nothing.  _ Hours roll by. 

One AM hits. One-thirty. Two. 

_ “Lionheart.”  _

Her hand smacks her ear. Herald stirs, her attention caught as Beau says, “Yeah —  _ yeah?”  _

_ “They’ve arrived. Start moving, but wait for the signal.”  _

“Gotcha. Tell us when.” She cranes her head up, watching Herald, how her body is wound tight and ready. The two of them tense. 

_ “You’re clear.”  _

She vaults over the edge. Herald catches her around the waist, kicks off the wall as Beau curls an arm tight around her shoulders —  _ gods, she’s toned.  _ They move quick and silent across the way, wind pushing their backs, until they are hidden against the building’s wall. It would take someone craning their head over the edge and looking directly down to see them. 

Beau clicks a button on her bracelet, a silent signal of  _ here  _ to Dairon. Voices are muffled above, the two of them too low to make out anything beyond snatches of words. She’s tense, and can feel the same in Herald. Adrenalin is already pumping through her veins, makes her twitch, her breath quicken. 

There’s a clatter. A flash. A  _ BANG.  _

They jet upwards as cries break out, Beau kicking off of Herald’s arm, hitting the ground in a roll and springing to her feet. Monks in cobalt blue are already there in the skirmish, grappling those that have scattered, throwing them back down to be restrained. A well-paced blow sends a robed figure collapsing to the ground, stunned as Beau shoves past them. She throws herself at one making an escape, kicks the in the back to throw them to the ground. 

Herald’s battle roar tears out behind her, voice backed by the clap of thunder. Another roar answers. Beau twists and finds a fucking  _ beast  _ of a person rearing up, slathering maw open and fangs bared as they come down on Herald. She grunts under their weight, feet planting firm,  _ shoves.  _ A shout tears from her mouth. The wolf-person’s eyes go wide as they’re thrown back, landing on their feet and dragging lines through the rooftop with their talons. 

Herald is on them in an instant. Electricity bursts off her fists and into their skin, fangs skittering across the ground. Shreds of ruined clothing hang off the wolf’s body, blown back by the impact. 

It’s a spectacle to watch, but not a one-sided fight. Beau moves when she sees Herald losing ground. The wolf catches her by the wrist, blood bursting around their fangs. A feral snarl erupts from their throat, ratcheting up in volume. 

Herald snarls back and grabs them by the ear, screaming into their face. Beau comes to a halt, watching as lightning seizes them. The jaw drops open as their muscles convulse, the wolf recoiling. Spots are left in Beau’s eyes. 

Fur bristles, drool pours from their lips. They throw themself back at Herald, and Beau snaps herself out of it, leaping onto their back. She brings the heel of her palm down between two vertebrae. They shudder, attention torn to her, Beau holding on tight as they rear back and off of Herald, pawing at its own back in a frenzy to get to her. 

She drops off its back and into a roll, letting Herald force herself up as more of the Cobalt Soul swarm this creature. She joins their hit-and-away flurry, yanking the tail to have them snapping at her, Dairon cracking them in the nose as their teeth snap around nothing. They catch a monk in the belly, throws them across the rooftop with a crack and a dull thud. 

Beau’s gaze flickers to the side. Amid the chaos, she catches a glimpse of an outlier. She’s at just the right angle to see past this creature and to where a shaded figure is darting across the roof, towards its edge.

As Herald moves to fill in the space surrounding the beast, Beau throws her arms around her bicep, giving her a tug. “Look,” she hisses, yanking her attention to point towards the escapee, just as they leap over the edge. She gives another tug, biting out, “They’ll be fine, get that guy!”

The wind howls. Beau feels like it will knock her off her feet before she’s being hauled up by a hand, slung onto Herald’s back before the woman shoots across the roof. She clings for dear life, a loud  _ “Fuck!”  _ shoved back into her mouth as they rocket outwards and then  _ down,  _ seeing that same shaded figure darting across another flat rooftop. 

Herald descends, Beau loosening her grip to drop and pitch forward into a roll, up onto her feet and sprinting as Herald is suddenly in front of this figure. They react fast, stuttering in their step and dodging around a bone-breaking punch, illuminated by a flash of lightning cracking off Herald’s fist. 

Even with the sudden illumination, Beau can’t make out any features. No silhouette, just a humanoid shadow blotting out the color around them. 

She hits them in the back. They stumble but recover fast. Herald bears down on them, Beau catching just a flash of red metal before the figure lashes out, leaving a bloody cut scored above her mask. Those mismatched eyes  _ flare.  _

The figure doesn’t linger, though, tries to break off before Beau intercepts them. They duck a swinging kick but she catches them with an elbow to the side as they pass, keeps on their flanks to slow them down until they turn to match her. She deflects their blade off their bracer, they trade blows, dodging, missing, hitting, a rapid, brutal thing.

And then the figure swings out with their opposite hand. Pain cuts across her belly, Beau reacting a beat too slow.  _ Two blades.  _ It’s shallow, but hot, blood soaking into the material of her suit. Her gasp strangles into a snarl as she presses a hand against the cut. It stings like a  _ bitch.  _

She’s slowed now, and even with Herald backing her up, this person is  _ good.  _ Even when they take a hit they  _ take it,  _ they barely stagger before flinging themself back into the fray. Beau sways back and forth around a dual pair of blades, red metal flashing in the moonlight. And then a shout tears from her mouth as one slices deep into her side.

Herald comes in like a raging bear, lifting them bodily and slamming them down into the concrete. Beau fights back the dizzy sensation, the question,  _ how bad is it.  _ The figure moves with a speed Beau can’t even see, the shadows of their body suddenly turned to silver wisps, something translucent and spectral. She can’t recover before Herald is recoiling with a furious, pained scream, both of those blades buried in her front. And yet she only seems to get angrier, her hair bristling as static burns the air around her. 

The figure twists out of her grasp, passing through Herald’s grip. Beau gives a scream as she forces herself through the pain, forces herself to move. The first punch goes through them before they solidify, a leg sliding out as they grab the knives out of Yasha’s body, throwing themself forward to roll to their feet. 

Beau brushes up against Herald’s side, the two of them splitting in opposite direction. Herald’s picked up on the goal here —  _ keep them here.  _

Beau cuts them off as they make to bolt, the two of them trading another flurry of blows before their broken apart as Herald nails the figure in the gut, an ugly hack of a sound as they double over and Beau brings her elbow down on their back. 

They collapse. Still formless, wheezing, twitching from the electricity that had seized their form. Beau kicks them in the head for good measure. 

Herald stoops down, grabbing them to throw them onto their back. That shaded, indecipherable face seems to peer up at them, the chest heaving breaths. 

Beau pants. Her side is hot and sticky, blood making her suit cling to her skin. She falls to her knees atop the figure, framing them with her legs as she grabs them by the front of their formless suit, yanking them up into a punch. There’s no blood on their face, but red smears her knuckles. 

They shake in her grip. Not fear, she realizes, not pain. They’re  _ laughing.  _ It’s a gurgling sound, like blood is welling up in their throat as they cough out their amusement. 

“Great, he’s a psychopath,” Beau snarls. “Hey. Who the  _ fuck  _ are you?”

Herald kneels down, a clink as she grabs the handcuffs to secure them. The figure’s lolling head lifts up, ignoring Herald, fixed on Beau. In the dark obscuring their features, there’s a sudden cut of white. Sharp teeth. A broad smile.

_ “The Nonagon,”  _ they rasp. 

And then Beau’s vision goes red. Hot blood, the skin and vessels popping, bursting in her eyes. Something cracks her in the jaw, she shouts, she falls back. Beau scrambles up, swaying, wiping the blood out of her eyes to watch as the Nonagon launches themself off the rooftop, Herald glancing once over her shoulder with concern on her face before throwing herself after them, thunder booming in the wake of her pursuit. 

  
  
  


Nearly two years following that night, Beau wipes the blood out of her eyes once again, and watches as Mollymauk runs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely thing about school starting is that I write between lecture notes. Told myself to wait a few more days before updating but alas.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s an empty road they buzz down, out alongside the warming glow of the sunset. A straightaway framed by open fields, windows open, the bluster of the air crackling alongside the blare of some of the strangest music Mollymauk could scrounge up. He’s got a first impression to make, and that  _does_ mean using a carefully curated playlists of singers that can't be understood, instruments that can't be identified, and band names that he invents on the spot if anyone asks.

It’s a real sight to see: three heroes and a tiefling crammed into a rental car. It’s technically in Hexblade’s name — whatever that may be, because he doesn't  _think_ heroes can use their titles on paperwork.  _Mollymauk_ doesn’t have the records that would let him rent a car. Molly technically doesn’t even have a license. 

Nott had been treasure in that regard. Soon enough, Mollymauk would look like a person who actually existed before his first video posting.

“So," comes a slow voice, "how did you get involved in all of this, anyway?”

Molly glances through the rearview, where Sugar Bomb is snoozing away, cheek smeared on the window. Hexblade is leaning back in the chair, but he meets Molly’s gaze through the mirror. “You don’t see civilians  _ hanging out  _ with heroes very often,” he continues, in a pleasant drawl of a voice. 

“I’m just charming,” Molly grins. “Not as charming as you, but they’re keeping me around so I must be doing something right.” 

“But how did you all  _ meet?”  _ Hexblade presses. 

Molly flips his blinker on, passing up a slow-moving truck with a roar of the engine. “Herald pulled me out of some rubble. I think she felt responsible cause she checks up on me every now and then. I guess I got caught in the middle of one of her fights?”

“You  _ guess?”  _

He ignores the question, continuing, “As for Sugar, I asked her for an interview. We got some takeout, she gave me her number.” 

Hexblade takes a look at the other tiefling — currently colored blue, which Molly thinks may be closer to her natural appearance. Or at the very least, her favorite color to wear. “You’ve never asked me for an interview,” he says, with a smile in his voice. 

“Are you offering?” Molly grins back. “Exclusive interview with the mysterious Hexblade himself — oh! Wait, is this you asking to be my friend?” As Hexblade gives a flat  _ no,  _ Molly laughs out, “That’s  _ so  _ sweet of you.”

“You should do it,” comes Sugar’s mumbled voice. Hexblade starts, evidentally thinking she'd been asleep. “Molly is like… super cool.” 

“I’m blushing.” His smile is reflected in the window, tinted pink by the fading sun.

What he'd said was the truth, though he doesn't particularly care who believes it. Mollymauk does not remember anything before Yasha pulled him out of the rubble. Even what came after that is a blur, just days dragging by with darkness between them. It barely matters to him, truly and genuinely.  _ This  _ is what he lives for, the present, the vivid colors, Sugar and Yasha and Hexblade piled into a car on their way to the little town of Alfield. 

It starts with Yasha and Lionheart, the two of them dispatched to investigate something that Mollymauk hadn’t asked about just yet. It moves to Sugar Bomb jumping onto their investigation, a detective now by her own words, collaborating with Nott in the shadows. It ends with her request to bring Hexblade around, the independent hero who has been rising in popularity among civilians _and_ heroes alike, if the little hearts in her eyes were any indication. And who was Molly to deny someone a chance at following their heart?

Also, Molly and Hexblade are the only ones in this ensemble that can  _ drive,  _ and no one wants to spend so many hours behind the wheel. It's nice to have someone to share the burden with.

Come evening, they’re pulling into the small town of Alfield to greet the watchmaster, Bryce, before they head to the local inn. They find Lionheart there, probably having gotten that lift from the Cobalt Soul that Yasha turned down. Or maybe she can drive. Molly doubts it. 

She's leaned up against a wall, trying to look cool, trying to impress Yasha. She turns her head as they approach, eyes immediately finding Yasha, the biggest in their party. Her gaze shifts to Sugar Bomb, her brow furrowing. It knits deeper when she sees Hexblade. When her gaze meets Molly’s —

A chill shivers down his spine. He knew Lionheart hadn’t liked him when they met. He's just a nuisance to her, and that's a fair judgement. She, in turn, is a thorn in his side, and she regularly makes him gag on the stench of her bullshit. But it's  _ fun  _ that way. He _likes_ disliking her. 

Lionheart’s glower bores into his view. He remembers, with a grimace, their last encounter and the  _ disaster  _ that had been. A hand lifts to his eye, a movement she tracks as he tries to disguise it as an itch. He pretends to examine his nails, acts like he's picking at some chipped polish as he examines them. There's no blood on his skin. 

The glare breaks from him, settling into more of a grimace as she shifts her weight, arms crossing and gaze fixed on Yasha. “I’d ask what  _ he’s  _ doing here, but honestly, you’ve kind of got a whole party here. _How_ did that happen?” 

Sugar bounces up to take the spotlight, her tail waving excitedly back and forth. Lionheart falters under her energy, though whether it’s because Sugar is kind of intense or just because Lionheart is kind of useless around pretty women is fully debatable. A little of both is the most likely answer. 

Molly is more than eager to slip away while Sugar is playing distraction. He leans up, Yasha leaning down as he murmurs, “I’m gonna take a walk.” 

She gives him a look of concern, but doesn’t stop him as he heads out.  Alfield is just a small town, mostly a pit stop for those traveling through the area. There’s not much to see out here, beyond small homes, small businesses, a gas station, and miles and miles of fields. He’d snap a picture to post, if only this weren’t a  _ secret  _ mission. 

Really, he and Yasha should be more careful about being seen together. Mollymauk should have just stayed home. He  _ shouldn’t _ be so needy as to feel his chest grow tight at the very thought of being home on his own for just a few days. 

Yasha isn't well known as a civilian, he tells himself. She wouldn't be recognized that easily. The thought doesn't provide any comfort. 

He follows the road outside the town for a ways, not intending to go far. He breaks into a jog, and then a full sprint, the trained pace that Lionheart has drilled into his body, maximizing his pace and minimizing energy output and whatever the fuck else it was supposed to do. He can choose between running  _ far  _ or running  _ fast  _ nowadays, at the cost of actually  _ wanting  _ to go out and run now. 

It becomes a sort of trance state, once he hits a certain point. The steady  _ thump-thump-thump  _ of his feet alongside the dirt side of the road. His heart pumps full and fast, breath trained even, the muscles stretch and contract into a familiar burn. The dusk is purple around him, bruising the earth with its low light. Stars wink into view. The crescent moon is a rotated grin. The world washes into shades of gray as night falls around him. 

And then there’s a light. He blinks, coming to a halt, panting as he cranes his head up and squints into the sky. There’s a distinct streak of red light, and Mollymauk finds himself grinning. He lifts his fingers to his lips, giving a shrill whistle. If Firebird hears him, there’s no sign to indicate it. The vigilante continues his arc through the night sky, a comet that’s fallen far too low. 

Mollymauk resumes his pace, tracking that light as best he can. He can’t keep up, but Firebird’s path is direct, seems to be following the road. He doesn’t know how much time passes, just jogging along. The road stretches endlessly, the further he goes, the worse he makes the trek back home for himself. Every few steps he considers stopping, and every time he pushes ahead.

A structure breaks the monotony of his path. He slows to get a good look at it, only realizing then just how exhausted he is. His face is flushed against the nighttime chill, breath wheezing. He has to sit down right there in the dirt, wishing he’d had the mind to maybe bring a bottle of fucking  _ water  _ with him. He’s sweaty, exhausted, miserable. He’s going to have to call Yasha to come pick him up. 

Molly checks his phone, and winces when he realizes there’s no service this far from the town.  _ “Gods,”  _ he growls to himself, pressing his palm to his overheated forehead. Somehow, this is Lionheart’s fault. 

It’s when he lifts his head that he notices the footprints in the dirt. Not his own, but something belonging to heavy boots, the kind that the heroes like to wear to properly kick ass on the job. The first set appears out of nowhere, and moves for the mine. 

So he’d managed to catch the Firebird after all. 

Were the mines what brought Yasha out here? It seemed like a bit too large a coincidence for a vigilante to set foot just a few miles away from where four heroes were stationed — even if only two of them were affiliated with an agency.

His option was to walk back until he got a signal, or to wait outside and wait for Firebird to re-emerge. 

Or there’s door number three. Mollymauk waits to catch his breath, giving himself time to think this over for just a few more minutes. When he’s able to stand upright without his legs shaking, it still feels like a better idea than waiting or walking away. A grin slices across his face as he slinks for the entrance. 

It’s a downward slope, steep and dark. His vision quickly narrows to just a few yards ahead of him, the texture of the walls and old tracks for the carts.  _ More walking.  _ More like creeping, at this angle. The excitement burns off steadily, minutes passing without ceremony and Molly beginning to wonder if he actually wants to be here after all. 

Then he sees the scorch marks. The tunnel levels out, Molly shifting his weight as he steps back onto flat ground. It’s opened up into a rounded space, a few light fixtures currently out of use mounted around the cavern. Without color, he nearly misses the dark smudges on the wall, is just turning away before they catch his eye. It’s just a dark gray against more gray, but a quick examination proves it’s the only place with those marks. Below the wall, the ground has more discolored scorch marks. 

Mollymauk keeps moving deeper into the tunnels, curious now. He’s  _ itching  _ to pull out his phone. This? Would be  _ huge.  _ Would be  _ excellent.  _ And it would almost certainly bring Yasha under questioning, as to why the hero Storm Herald allowed this capricious tiefling to follow her even beyond the city.  A quest for just self-satisfaction isn't a bad thing. Maybe he can’t profit off of it, but when was the last time Mollymauk took the time to just enjoy a stale-aired mineshaft. 

A few minutes down the tunnel, Molly finds what must have been the source of the scuffle. There are two trussed-up bodies, singed and unconscious. He bites his lip, hunkering down to examine them. Gags had been shoved into their mouths, their faces exposed as masks hang down, resting against their chests. He uses his shirt to cover his hand as he lifts one, examining it: black, plain, save for the white fangs painted onto the mask’s lower half, depicting an open maw. 

Well. Maybe  _ Mollymauk  _ doesn’t have to publish the pictures. News stations will appreciate anonymous pictures, too. Hell, maybe he sells them to someone else and lets them turn it in. Maybe Nott? Maybe not. 

He’s careful to arrange each picture into an amateurish angle, makes sure that not so much as his own shadow gets into the image as the light flashes.  A smile plays across his face. He’s going to need to fake his location just in case. Molly pockets his phone, lets his eyes readjust to the lack of light before delving even further. 

So. Villain hideout. An abandoned mine is a bit cliche, but he can’t actually fault their choice. Not many people would actually think to investigate. A long trek, narrow passageways make hiding difficult and closing people  _ in  _ all too easy. Which Mollymauk perhaps should have considered before getting in this deep, but he’s here now. And he’s going to get a picture of the action. 

The last flash of the camera brings with it a sudden, distant sound. He straightens up and darts for the bend in the tunnel, back pressing against the wall, a breath swelling in his chest and halting there. He listens, tail curled tight around his leg, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. 

Boots scuff stone. A pause in the movement. A shift — examining the bodies. The one's  _he'd_ disturbed. Mollymauk pushes his breath out through his teeth, drags it slow back into his lungs. Another scuff of boots, coming closer. Tension winds into his body, no longer out of fear, now ready. He pats the inside of his coat, where he’s taken to keeping that knife he never returned to Nott. Turns out holding a weapon on his person is a good idea when he’s consistently in the line of fire.    
  
He grips it, listening, waiting, head turned, muscles wound tight. 

A boot appears around the bend. Mollymauk lunges, springing down and off the ground, shoving them up against the wall and getting his knife against their throat, lips pulled back into a snarl as he glares up into the masked face of Firebird. 

It doesn’t register at first. There’s something pounding in his veins, telling him  _ danger, kill,  _ and the knife digs in, breaks skin before a hand is on his wrist and  _ burning,  _ another covers his mouth before he can cry out.

_ “Gods damn it, Mollymauk,”  _ comes Firebird’s hissing voice, and  _ that  _ is what snaps him out of it. He blinks, feeling his wrist throb as blood rushes to the burn marring his flesh, the knife’s handle digging against his own skin. “What the  _ hell  _ are you doing here?  _ Attacking  _ me?”

“I thought you were one of the bad guys,” Molly whispers back, but the defensive edge softens quickly as he looks at the bloody line now dripping down Firebird’s throat. Guilt twists his stomach. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t…” 

Firebird is silent, but his mouth is set in a firm line. 

“You changed your mask,” Molly suddenly says, blinking. It’s no longer that cat mask, he realizes, so distracted that the costume change had almost snuck past him. It’s white and red and trimmed with gold, thin lines forming a swirling pattern of flames. The design is characteristic, familiar. “Did Sugar make that?”

_ “Ja.”  _ The eyes are covered, a little disconcerting. “She is… very talented.”

“She  _ is!”  _ He smiles. 

There’s a stretch of silence, Molly just looking into the mesh that hides Firebird’s gaze. The vigilante straights up all of a sudden, clearing his throat. “I will escort you outside,” he announces, mechanically. “Your presence here is  _ dangerous.  _ If those people are found too soon, we will have compromised innocent lives. Do you understand that?”

Molly’s stomach drops. “There are  _ people  _ here?” He hisses. “Like civilian people? Lead with that next time!”

“I needed to figure out if you were a threat first,” Firebird says. It’s not quite a growl, but there’s an edge to his voice that feels dangerous. Firebird is not, by definition, a hero. He’s unaligned. He  _ defected.  _ Molly has yet to hear genuine breach of protocol, no brutality against villains, no civilian casualty, no reckless destruction of property. He acted and looked like a hero, and that was a conundrum Mollymauk had been drawling about on his blog since he first met the man. 

Now he wonders. And now he is glad he did not put his knife away. 

Firebird walks him along, a few minutes spent in tense silence, Molly’s ears pricked to listen for any sudden movements. His blood is thrumming full and fast under his skin.    
  
The tunnels opens up again to that first rounded space, with the scorched walls and the upward tunnel. As their shoes crunch in the dirt, he hears an answering step further on. Mollymauk puts out a hand, halting Firebird in his steps. They both stand still, silent, listening to the sound of approaching steps. Multiple sets, coming back down the tunnels Mollymauk had just traversed and towards them. 

_ “Scheisse,”  _ Firebird curses, low. He forces himself in front of Mollymauk, the cavern illuminating as flames wreathe his arms.  _ “Stay here,”  _ he orders, and darts ahead, leaving Molly along, surrounded by broken light fixtures. 

The sounds are impossible to discern, just distant flares of light and muffled voices. Molly tenses, staring, frozen. How many people were up there, and could Firebird handle it all on his own. Mollymauk stares at the knife in his hand. It feels impossibly short. A few inches of a blade, meant for stabbing, not slashing, forcing him to get closer than he’d ever like to be. 

A hand lifts, the pads of his fingers touching the corner of his eye.  _ That  _ had been an accident. A  _ fluke.  _ It wouldn’t serve him here whatsoever. 

Stay put, them. Molly growls to himself, frustration bubbling up in his throat. Maybe he’s getting tired of being the damsel in distress. Maybe he’s tired of learning how to run. 

Whatever destination those thoughts would have, they’re abruptly derailed as something hard and heavy smashes into the back of his skull. Lights wink in his eyes, Molly pitching forward. He’s dimly aware of hitting the ground and then — 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit since I've updated this! Hopefully I'll be able to get myself back in gear. 
> 
> As usual, please let me know what you think! Hearing from you all is what motivated me to get back to work. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to yet another majorly self-indulgent AU. Superheroes is kind of my _thing._
> 
> Finally, if you enjoy this story please let me know! Comments are the best way to gauge interest so I can determine if I should continue a story or not. <3 Thanks for reading!


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